


A Study In Beauty And Forgiveness

by DefaltManifesto



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Schmoop, Tiny bit of Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 06:42:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1888827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefaltManifesto/pseuds/DefaltManifesto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you cover anything up with enough paint, it can be beautiful. Steve likes Bucky just the way he is though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study In Beauty And Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> Gift fic for a friend's birthday~ Also my attempt to write something that was almost entirely fluffy. Hope you all enjoy!

[The tumblr](http://schizzar.tumblr.com)

 

"I want to draw you."

Bucky looked up from his book, not surprised by Steve's request given that he'd been asking the same thing for the last two weeks. "No."

Steve shrugged and set his sketchpad aside before joining Bucky on the couch and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "What book are you on now?"

"American Gods," Bucky said. "Bruce was rather insistent that I read it."

"Good choice." Steve twined his fingers with Bucky's free hand, which as always was his metal one. Bucky glanced over at him before returning his gaze to the book. "Why won't you let me draw you?"

Bucky's usual retort of a simple 'because' was on the tip of his tongue, but then he paused and decided it was best to finally throw Steve a bone. "You shouldn't waste your time on me. This isn't exactly something to make a pretty picture of." He twiddled the fingers of his metal hand, but Steve just tightened his grip in response.

"What if I paint your arm instead?"

Bucky set the book aside and tugged his arm out of Steve's grip. "Seriously, what is your obsession with this? I don't need you to try and make me feel better."

He regretted the words almost the moment they left his mouth. Steve's expression fell and he stood up.

"Sorry, I'll stop pushing it," Steve said.

"No, Steve, I...you can paint my arm," Bucky said.

Steve bit his lip and looked at him, as if he weren't sure Bucky was actually being serious, so Bucky sighed and stepped closer to sling his arm around Steve's shoulder.

"I'm not just saying it to pacify you. If you wanna paint it, fine, I don't really care. No complaints from me," Bucky said.

"Alright," Steve said, smiling up at him. He leaned over to kiss Bucky once on the lips before stepping away from him. "I'll go get my paints."

           

-.-

 

It became a pretty common thing then. Every day, Steve would take a seat beside him while he was reading or catching up on pop culture by going through a list of movies Clint and Natasha had provided him with. By the end of whatever he was doing, his metal arm had turned into something else entirely, something that was actually beautiful and didn't make Bucky's chest ache when he looked at it.

The first painting was simple, only a few colors, but with just a few hues Steve managed to turn Bucky's arm into chain mail. Bucky had studied it for quite some time, analyzing every detail in a way he never had before. After all, he'd never had a reason to as the Winter Soldier, and as Bucky he had no desire to, given how easy it was for such analysis to turn into a host of dark thoughts.

It was pretty easy to see what Steve was doing; normalizing the arm to make it easier for Bucky to look at. The day Steve decorated the arm with bright, multi-colored dragon scales, Bucky found it hard to actually look away. When Steve sat beside him on the edge of the tub, gently washing the paint away with a wet washcloth, Bucky was actually sad to see it go. Steve set the cloth aside and cupped Bucky's cheek to force their eyes to meet.

"I can do it again tomorrow. The same thing, I mean. Or close to it," Steve said.

"No, it's fine," Bucky said, eyes dropping to his lap. "It was beautiful but-"

"It still is, Bucky," Steve said. "It doesn't need my art to be beautiful. It's a part of you, and that's more than enough."

"You're crazy. This has killed people," Bucky said, glaring down at the metal arm and flexing its fingers.

"So have these." Steve put his arm beside Bucky's and flexed his own fingers in return. "We've both killed. It doesn't make you less of a person. It...leaves its mark on us, sure, but we're still human. We can't hold ourselves to some perfect standard."

Bucky snorted and looked up at him. "You're Captain America."

"And you know how imperfect I am, better than anyone," Steve said. He grabbed both of Bucky's hands in his own. "But you still love me. Why is it so hard to believe that I love you too? All of you."

Bucky pulled away from him, something like panic in his chest at the earnest tone of Steve's voice. He and Steve had admitted their love for one another quite some time ago and had been in a relationship for just as long, and yet something about Steve's need for him to understand that the metal arm didn't make him less human made him feel like running away.

"Steve, I can't...do this right now," Bucky said, voice hushed.

"That's fine," Steve said, giving him a patient smile as Bucky got to his feet.

Bucky just gave a jerking nod before fleeing the room.

 

-.-

 

Sam Wilson was a goddamn blessing in Bucky's eyes. He listened without judgment, knew when not to crack a joke, but also knew when such a joke was absolutely necessary to get through the conversation without breaking down. Of course it helped that he knew when to call people out and show them their own bullshit.

"You love Steve Rogers, yeah?" Sam asked as he leaned back in the chair, sipping at his coffee.

Bucky glanced around the Starbucks again, his nerves about their conversation making him extra twitchy. "Yes, I do."

"And you've seen him fight, back in the day? WWII? All that death? So you know he has done a lot of awful shit," Sam said.

"He did it for the right reasons though," Bucky said as he finally met Sam's eyes. "What I did...wasn't..."

"You weren't in control," Sam said. "You know that. We've _talked_ about that. You are not responsible."

"But this..." Bucky clenched his metal arm into a fist. "This represents all those things I did, whether I was in control or not. I can't...think of this as beautiful. Not without Steve's touch."

"Steve's done and seen brutal things and he's still able to make that arm of yours look beautiful though, right? So what does that tell you?" Sam asked. He leaned forward on his knees, eyes boring into Bucky's. "The only thing stopping your arm from being normal is you. The moment you accept it is the moment it's no longer ugly."

"So it's my fault then."

"Sort of. I mean, I can hardly blame you for feeling the way you do, but yeah," Sam said. "You're the only one not accepting you as you. We all have. We like you fine just as you are. You've got every right the way to feel the way you do but...at some point, you gotta forgive yourself man. We have."

"I don't know how to do that," Bucky said, bowing his head.

"Yeah, that I can't tell you. You gotta figure that out on your own. I can promise you that Steve and I are gonna be there the whole time though," Sam said.

Bucky gave a nervous smile. "Good. Thanks Sam."

Sam smiled too, wide and bright. "Not a problem, soldier boy. You gimme a call if you need it."

"Yeah, I will."

 

-.-

 

"Steve?"

Steve looked up from his book as Bucky entered their floor of Stark Tower. "Hey, how was Sam?"

"Good. We need to talk," Bucky said.

Steve didn't seem surprised by Bucky's abruptness. Neither of them were good at small talk, not when there was something more important to talk about. "Okay, then let's talk. What's up?"

"Sam said I haven't accepted myself," Bucky said. He took a seat next to Steve on the couch, unable to help but sit with his back rim-rod straight, muscles tense. "But I want to. I just don't know how. I...need help with that."

Steve nodded. "Okay. I'll do what I can, even if I'm not entirely sure how. I don't know any sort of psychology Buck, but I know you and hopefully that's enough."

Bucky tucked his head against Steve's shoulder and then extended his metal arm to lay in the other's lap. Steve trailed his fingers over one of the grooves in the metal, and while Bucky couldn't feel it, he could see it, and the mismatch of sensory input made him feel off; not bad, not good, just off.

"Let me know if what I do or say is too much, okay?" Steve asked, voice soft.

Bucky leaned into Steve's warmth and nodded. It was okay to feel off. It was okay to be worried, and to be afraid and unsure. Sam forgave him, Steve forgave him, so all he had to do was forgive himself. He'd need time, but Steve was patient. Bucky shifted so he could twine the metal fingers with Steve's warm ones.

He was going to be okay. Steve wouldn't let him be anything else, and Bucky was quite okay with that. 

 

 


End file.
